


Dreamin' for a place to be

by WeWalkADifferentPath



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Raphael is v upset about Rosa, ish, mild spoilers for the latest episode if you haven't seen it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWalkADifferentPath/pseuds/WeWalkADifferentPath
Summary: Raphael took a sharp breath in. His lungs clawed violently for air, for the first time in eight decades.“Rosa.”The figure stepped forward.How Raphael ended up serving lunch in the premiere.





	Dreamin' for a place to be

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all. warnings for grief, loss, and anger related to Raphael mourning Rosa. Raphael also has a bit of an outburst at the very beginning beating some stuff up. So be safe. 
> 
> Inspired by the brief look we got at woman working next to Raphael.

The brick wall spewed dust as Raphael’s fist made impact. He would have coughed, if he were a mundane. 

If he were a mundane. 

He reared his fist back and slammed it down again, relishing the dull thud with every hit. It was a comfort. That sound _was_ something; it was _something._ It wasn’t enough, though. He needed something that he could make a dent in, something that he could _break._

He scanned the alley, squinting to see through the snow that was blurring out most of the world. There was a wooden plank next to the dumpster and he made for it, rearing back to kick at it with the full force of his vampire strength. It split clean in two, echoing with a resounding crack.

At the same moment, a small voice behind his back said,“Hello.” 

If Raphael’s hearing weren’t sharpened, he wouldn’t have heard it. As it was, he whirled, eyes seeking out the shadowy figure approaching from the street. 

He took a sharp breath in. His lungs clawed violently for air, for the first time in eight decades. 

“Rosa.”

The figure stepped forward. She was wearing a bulky winter coat and had a scarf wrapped around her face, further obscuring her profile. But she was the right build, and the way she moved, fluid and gentle and radiating kindness, was the same. 

“Rosa?”

Had Raphael died? Was it possible that he hadn’t noticed? Or was she returned to him, an Angel on Earth? But no, he didn’t deserve an Angel. Not with everything he’d done. Perhaps a warning. Or she was there, an illusion, to punish him. 

He wanted to ask her, wanted to open his mouth and say, _what,_ he would never know, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t speak to her. Not after everything.

But he didn’t have to. The woman stepped forward again, now in Raphael’s space, and he knew all at once that it wasn’t her. It wasn’t his Rosa.

“I’m very sorry, love,” the woman said, and suddenly her arms were around him anyways. “I’m not her. I’m very sorry.”

Raphael froze. Her embrace was warm, and he could hear the blood pumping through her veins in the slow and steady way of older folks. She smelled of burgamot, and fresh bread, where Rosa had smelled of rosemary and home. 

“It’s okay, child,” the stranger whispered, one hand cupping the back of Raphael’s head. Tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden. 

It must have been a dream, then, he thought, because suddenly his perception seemed to switch and shrink, and Raphael saw himself in third person as he squeezed the strange old woman back before he snapped back into his body, to the sensation of blood rolling off of his cheeks. 

“How did you know?” He spoke into her shoulder, careful to keep his blood off of her scarf. 

The woman patted his back. “I lost my husband last year,” she said. “I saw him everywhere too.”

“It was my sister.” She didn’t ask why he’d mistaken an elderly woman for his sister, when he was clearly so much younger. She just nodded and pulled back, grasping the edge of his face with her palm.

Her eyes were intent as she stared at him and he was embarrassed, now, seeing her up close. The woman was so clearly not his Rosa, so clearly a stranger. Yet she regarded him with Rosa’s same patience. He wiped his cheeks hastily, feeling chastised somehow. 

“Say what you have to say,” she commanded gently. 

He wavered, then decided it was too late to stop now. 

“I’m sorry.” It felt like a confession. “I’m so sorry. I know that I’ve disappointed you.”

To his surprise, the woman shook her head, smiling. “Child,” she said, “whatever it is that you’re atoning for, you’re forgiven. Yes? Your sister loves you. She’s up there watching you and she loves you.”

For the first time since his sister had passed, Raphael began to believe in the possibility. He stepped back out of the woman’s embrace, smoothing down his jacket. The cool metal of his cross necklace lit up the skin on his fingers for a moment, with the same tiny spark of pain that he’d grown so used to every time he touched it. 

“Thank you,” he told her, genuinely. “Thank you so much.”

She nodded. The way she straightened, shifting back into business mode, shedding the skin of her kindness but keeping it soft behind her eyes, was so like Rosa too. Raphael swallowed.

“You can repay me by serving soup with me this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“At the shelter. We serve free lunches Sunday afternoons. You’re coming with me.”

Raphael scratched at the back of his neck, where her palm had rested earlier. The warmth from her touch lingered there. “Aren’t there background checks for that sort of thing?”

He really wasn’t sure. It had been decades since he’d applied to anything through mundane channels. Unsurprisingly, it was next to impossible to hold an ID or a social security number when you were sixty years older than anyone expected you to be. The clan was the first and only thing he’d been beholden too. 

Other than bringing food to the seniors center, which was a position he’d only gotten because of his sister. He couldn’t go back there, now.

The woman tilted her head. He felt like a bug under glass as she examined him. Whatever she saw, though, she must have decided to trust him, because she shrugged. “You’ll be with me.”

Then she turned and exited the alley, pausing to tilt back and stare at him one more time. “Come along now. And don’t be breaking or punching anything in the kitchen, you hear?”

Raphael nodded, smiling a little despite himself. Still feeling dazed, he nodded a second time, and then a third. The New York clan leader, reduced to a child. “Yes ma’am.”

“You can call me Anne.”

“Raphael.”

If this was in fact a dream, he planned on staying with it-- no matter where it took him-- until it was torn from him. So without looking back at the destruction he’d created in the ally, he followed her. 

If this was the first step to atonement, he was happy to be on that path. He’d do whatever it took. 

He’d find a way to make them both proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore the hella unrealistic way Anne is recruiting volunteers. I took some artistic liberty with her not needing a background check, lol
> 
> I like to think that when Raphael notes that Rosa smells like home, he means their childhood home too, even after all these years. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my soul. hmu at wewalkadifferentpath on tumblr or adifferentpath on twitter.


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